


Into the Gaps

by robocryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Light Angst, Past Violence, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22259428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: Akande is not a shy man, but he is a cautious one. Ashe makes him question his own instincts.
Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31





	Into the Gaps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theoroark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Theoroark!!

#

Normally, he would prefer to fly a new contact out to meet him, but many of his acquaintances are understandably suspicious. Elizabeth Ashe is one such. On the flight over, he reviews the dossier: thirty-nine, somehow both heiress to a small fortune and the leader of the most notorious and organized gang in the United States, acquainted with Sombra and with a former Overwatch agent. Sombra assures him there is bad blood there — no threat of mixed loyalties, then.

It is unclear how large the gang is; she is evasive about numbers, but her reach is apparent. They have the run of most of the southwestern United States. Contacts with Los Muertos, at least, so Talon are not their only international ties. 

He exits the jet into a glaring sun. Orange dust swirls over the toes of his shiny shoes immediately. It is a short walk from the private jet to the waiting car, but the sun beats down relentlessly. The heat of it is familiar, almost comforting, even if he worries that he will arrive sweaty. Gabriel trails behind him, and Akande imagines he is quietly suffering inside his leather outfit. Perhaps this will be the lesson he needs to diversify his wardrobe. 

He does not _need_ Gabriel, but it was nevertheless a sensible precaution to bring more backup than a pilot. In close quarters, Gabriel is all the enforcement he might require. At a distance... well. Widowmaker will know what to do if the time comes, but it is more likely that she will get to flip through her fashion magazines for a few hours before they fly back to Rome.

Elizabeth does not strike him as the sort of woman who wants to start a war with Talon. She is ambitious. _Hungry_. That much is evident from her dossier and their brief communiqués. Talon can provide what she needs to exercise her ambition. He does not think she wants anything but what she has already stated.

He expects to be driven to some obscene American mansion. Something too large and too gaudy; he can almost hear Widowmaker sneering _nouveau riche_ when he tries to picture it. Instead they drive through a rundown ghost town, and he is taken to a massive industrial space carved into the steep wall of the canyon. 

When they arrive, she is waiting, flanked by a towering omnic in a bowler hat. In her leather pants and vest, she has not dressed up for the occasion, or if she has, her idea of dressing up conflicts with his own. She is somehow more attractive for it. He saw her picture, of course, but in person there is an appeal that no photograph could have captured.

There is something gratifying about the way her eyes go wide as he unfolds himself from the vehicle. About the vulpine curve of her mouth as she says, “Aren’t you a tall drink of water?”

He is unsure why it makes him chuckle. He is used to stares and comments on his height. Perhaps it is the sincerity with which she says it or the sense that the pleasant surprise is mutual. 

Some of her people watch, but most mind their own business as she leads him on a tour of the facility. He wonders if this is why she hoped to meet here: she wanted a chance to show off her operation. It is impressive, but he can also see why she might want to expand. This is a well oiled machine; he wonders if she is bored, looking for something that requires further creativity.

They pass through a large rec room with a pool table, and they end in another room. This one has a polished wooden conference table in the middle. It is heavy and formal, more like the furniture he came here expecting. They sit, and the large omnic silently offers a variety of drinks. 

They negotiate. There is nothing that is difficult to agree to. She wants to maintain control of her own people and a cut of any profits. He has no desire to micromanage, so long as they get their foothold here in the States. He agrees that Deadlock can keep sixty percent; there is enough wealth already coursing through Talon’s veins that he would have agreed to more, but it is good to have something else to offer later if needed. Bargaining with her is strangely thrilling, so he may prolong it for that reason too. If the look she gives him is anything to go by, she agrees.

* * *

The next time, she flies out to Rome. He is busy lately; he should assign someone else to meet with her. He doesn’t. 

She arrives with her butler and dressed much the same as before. When they meet for dinner, though, she wears a red silk dress, simply cut but fitted from strapless top to where it ends at mid thigh. He is hardly one to take clothing as a sign of interest, but it is difficult not to make _some_ assumptions. It is also difficult not to note the height of her heels and to think that he would not have to bend very far to kiss her.

The look she gives him over her glass of Amarone suggests that she would not mind being kissed. He does what he can to ignore it; he is not a shy man, but casual dalliances are too great a risk to take on lightly. When dinner is over, he escorts her to the suite they have appointed her. She looks as though she might say something, but he bids her goodnight before she can, heart drumming in his chest. 

The following afternoon, he accompanies her to the Galleria Borghese. She is dressed more casually this time, although it is still far removed from riding leathers. She wears red again, the cut of her top low enough that when she stands close, he has to avert his eyes. He wonders if she is doing it on purpose. She does not strike him as a woman who keeps her desires to herself, so her silence on the subject causes him to second guess his own assumptions. It could be his imagination; it is also not improbable that she is treading with caution as well.

Ignoring the curious tension hanging between them, he finds he enjoys her company for other reasons. “Been a long time since I’ve been somewhere like this,” she confides with a slow, fascinating smile.

Still, she seems to grow bored with the museum rather quickly. Thinking that she might prefer something more familiar, he returns to Talon headquarters and takes her to the firing range, where she shows off her excellent aim. She performs a few trick shots for him, and he entertains her suggestion for a friendly competition. She wins handily. It is not a surprise, and he does not mind. What matters is that her hair is slightly askew, strands in her face, and her smile has grown bigger and brighter.

“Impressive,” he says.

“Too bad about that aim,” she teases back. 

He simply shrugs. “My skills lie elsewhere.”

Her gaze flicks down his body before it returns to his face. “I bet.” The back of his neck is hot, and he tells her that he has work to do. He does not think he is imagining the look of confused disappointment. She confirms it when they arrive at her suite again. She reaches out, and the touch of her hand on his arm is electric. “Would you like to come inside?”

He would like that very much, but it is not the wise choice. Neither can he bring himself to reject her outright. He is torn, and he feels foolish for it. “Another time, perhaps,” is his diplomatic reply. 

Her face closes off, and only then does he realize how open it has been all day. “Of course.” Her smile looks plastic now.

It aches more than it should. By way of apology, he bends down to kiss her cheek. “Goodnight, Elizabeth.” 

* * *

He thinks about her after she has gone, and he wonders. He catches himself staring in the mirror after a shower. He has many scars — from injuries, from surgeries both elective and life-saving. There is one that catches his attention this day, though, along the ribs on the left: a knife wound from a former lover.

He is not only Akande. He is also Doomfist. And Doomfist has enemies. 

Most of his enemies are obvious. They operate with clear motives. Some even have his respect. But he has encountered the deceitful, seductive kind before, those looking for strings to pull or gaps in his armor. It is not easy to picture Elizabeth as a manipulator or as that kind of assassin; she seems the type to spit in someone’s face and let them get a good look at the barrel of her gun, not the sort to wait until her mark is half asleep to try to slip a knife between his ribs. But he must consider the possibility.

It is very easy to picture her as one of the gaps in his armor. He does not know which is more dangerous.

She pulls at him, though. There is a sense of familiarity with her. Things she could understand that other people could not: what it means to be estranged from one’s family and create another. What it means to rule. What it means to have all these things and yet spend nights aching and alone. 

It takes him a month after her visit to Rome to get over himself. He does not tell her all his fears, but he does send her flowers and a letter apologizing for the time he required to consider it. He thinks it will make sense to her. She responds with an earnestness he did not expect but thinks he should have, and he smiles as he tucks the letter away, even if the creeping paranoia cannot fully be shaken. 

By the time they next see each other in person, he has come to the conclusion that he has little to fear from her — although his fear that she may become a weakness is now greater than ever. In the moment, it does not matter. What matters is the shape of her smile before she kisses him and the laugh she lets out when it is finished.

Slowly but surely, she does find the gaps in his armor using only the force of her sincerity. No knife follows, though. What follows is understanding, a protectiveness that is almost embarrassing in its fierceness. He has never enjoyed asking for help, but that protectiveness is also flattering where it would be insulting from anyone else. She has decided he is family, and she acts accordingly. 


End file.
